The sun hadn't even properly claimed the sky when Shiro's new reality decided to knock. It was 6:00 a.m., and the world was still painted in shades of blue and grey. Satoshi, his roommate-a fact Shiro's brain was still stubbornly refusing to file away-was already moving around the room with a quiet efficiency that felt almost offensive.
Satoshi finished his morning reading, a small, worn book he tucked carefully into his bag. Then, with a gentle swoosh, he drew the curtains open. A blade of sharp, colorful light, fractured by the stained-glass design on their window, cut across the dim room and landed directly on Shiro's exposed backside, his sheet a puddle on the floor.
Shiro, muttering incoherently about annihilating the sun, slowly pried his eyes open. He squinted at the window as if it had personally betrayed him.
Shiro: The world's still asleep... let me sleep more.
Sato: Aren't you going to your class today? Sato's voice was calm, a simple question.
Shiro lay still, a statue of teenage rebellion. Then, in a movement too fast for someone who'd just been comatose, he shot upright. His eyes, now clear and sharply focused, landed on Sato. There was no recognition in them. Only a cold, blank assessment.
Shiro: Who are you?
Sato: Eh? A nervous laugh escaped Sato. He waited for the punchline, for Shiro's usual lazy grin. It never came. Shiro's face was a mask of genuine confusion. I'm Satoshi. Your... roommate...? he said, the statement tilting into a question under Shiro's intense gaze.
Shiro brought a hand to his head, scratching at his white hair as if trying to dig the memory out.
Shiro: Ohhhhhhhhhh yaaaa... my roommate. Yaaaaaaaaa, that's what you are. Hmmmm. The words were there, but the feeling wasn't. It was an empty confirmation.
Sato's shoulders slumped slightly. He understood then. The easy camaraderie from last night was gone, erased by sleep. He spent the next few minutes patiently recounting their conversation-the class discovery, the nickname Sato, the friends declaration. Shiro listened, his expression unreadable.
Sato: So, remember now?
Shiro: Nope. Not a thing. He swung his legs off the bed. But I believe you. You look like the type who wouldn't lie to me. Right? He said it flatly, his eyes holding Sato's for a beat too long.
Sato: Do I take that as a compliment or a threat? Sato mumbled to himself, unnerved.
As they stepped out into the hallway, Shiro pulling their door shut, a sound sliced through the morning quiet. It was high-pitched, bright, and utterly out of place.
???: Shirooooo! Wait for meeee, ooooi!
A child's voice, dripping with cheerful energy. Shiro spun around instantly, his eyes scanning the empty corridor. Nothing. Not a soul. The air itself felt still and silent.
Sato: Why? Something wrong? he asked, noticing Shiro's sudden tension. Quickly, close that door, we need to leave. Sato had heard nothing but the echo of their own footsteps.
Shiro: Nah, Shiro said, turning back, his voice dropping to a mumble. I just felt... sleepy.
Sato: Say whaaat?
As they walked through the sprawling main hall, Sato tried to bridge the awkward silence, falling into step beside the enigma that was his roommate.
Sato: So, I couldn't ask you yesterday, but which class are you in?
Shiro: SR. B class.
Sato: Ohhh, so you're in SR. That's why I didn't see you. Well, I'm in LR B class. He offered a small, personal detail, a peace offering. So, do you have any siblings or anyone? Well, for me, I have an older sister. She's 4 years older than me.
Shiro: No, Shiro replied, his voice final. I'm alone.
And then the voices came again. This time, there were two. They seemed to flutter right beside his ear, a private stereo of phantom sounds.
???: Here, you can have this.
???: Really?
???: Really, really!
???: Yay! Thank you, *****!
The name was a blur of static in his mind. Shiro whirled around, his head on a swivel, his heart hammering against his ribs. The hall was full of students now, but none of them were the source. They were just ghosts of a memory he couldn't grasp.
Sato: Are you sure you're okay? Sato pressed, his concern growing.
Shiro forced his body to relax, facing forward again, his jaw tight.
Shiro: I'm fine, I'm fine. No problem at all.
The rest of the walk was silent. When they reached the junction where their paths diverged, Sato pointed left.
Sato: Well, I'm going this way.
Shiro, pointing right, merely grunted, I'm here.
Sato: Well then, see you at interval.
Shiro didn't verbalize a reply. He just turned, raising a hand in a slow, dismissive wave without looking back.
For a few moments, Shiro walked alone, the cacophony of the school fading into a dull roar around him. He muttered to himself, the words a dark secret for the empty air.
Shiro: It's getting clearer... the echoes. A little by little. And I'm forgetting real things... little by little. He grabbed a fistful of his own white bangs, pulling tightly as if the pain could anchor him. My head hurts... I need to sleep. I need to... forget.
Just then, as he shuffled forward like a man heading to his own execution, a hand clapped down on his shoulder from behind, firm and familiar.
???: Oh ho! Look who's come early!
Shiro didn't need to look. He knew the voice, the pressure of the grip, the aura of barely-contained chaos.
Shiro: Morning, Arien.
Arien: It's 'good morning,' you walking corpse. She yanked him around to face her. Her eyes, sharp and critical, scanned his face. You look worse than yesterday.
A strange, soft smile touched Shiro's lips, a stark contrast to his pale, tired features. In that moment, looking at her fierce, present, real face, a thought surfaced from the murk.
Shiro: Maybe... I don't want to forget.
Arien: What are you talking about? she snapped, her brow furrowing in confusion, but a flicker of something else-curiosity?-in her eyes. Whatever. Let's head out. We're not being late again because of you!
And with that, she took off, a force of nature pulling a confused and haunted Shiro in her wake, running toward whatever the new day would bring.